KEY POINTS:
One of Keith Quinn's favourite Ranfurly Shield memories is of the hallowed Log spending its last night in Wellington at his house.
This week on Brendan Telfer's (another Wellingtonian) radio show, Quinn recounted the tale of how he looked after the Shield the night before Canterbury's successful 1982
challenge. The next morning he was outside with his son posing for some photographs when passersby began to notice the Shield. Cars pulled over, a crowd gathered and there was, by all accounts, quite a scene. Quinn then packed up the Shield and duly delivered it to Athletic Park and, as it turned out, into the hands of the Cantabs.
Quinn and Telfer, two of the older and wiser gents of New Zealand sports journalism, then mulled over their recollections of joining thronging crowds to meet victorious Wellington sides at the train station (these were apparently pre-flight days).
Delightful tales, for sure.
But for Wellingtonians of a later generation - those in their mid 30s like me - such happy Shield memories simply do not exist.
My first-ever rugby memory was of bleeding Wayne Smith diving in in the corner in that 1982 match and the dastardly Red and Blacks nicking off with the Shield. Since then, Wellington's Shield history has been one of misery, embarrassment and interminable-agony.
In a sea of low points, the 2001 Steve Walsh affair was perhaps the lowest. Having studied in Christchurch for five years, I returned the next year for the Shield challenge confident a reigning champion Wellington side boasting the likes of Christian Cullen, Tana Umaga and Jonah Lomu would at last right the wrongs of the preceding 19 years.
For 60 minutes they did, scoring some wonderful tries while running up a match-winning 19-point lead. I was even able to shrug off my annoyance at the Cantab mate who had thrown up all over me two minutes after kick-off after chugging one too many pre-match beers.
But then Mr Walsh appeared to be smitten by some strange disorder that forced him to continually blow his whistle. It also allowed him to only put his arm up in one direction. When a Wellington player was clearly taken out off the ball in front of the Canterbury posts, the disorder then claimed his vision.
A penalty goal would have all-but guaranteed Wellington victory, but it never came, instead Canterbury made a break that finished with Ben Blair diving over in the corner on full-time to seal the comeback.
To this day, Walsh, who will fittingly referee tonight's match, is still booed every time he sets foot on the Caketin turf. My wife has, on pain of divorce, banned mention of his name in our house.
There have been other indignities, such as the time word leaked out that the Wellington City Council had made preliminary plans for a victory street parade ahead of a challenge _ from memory again against Canterbury _ that ended with a record defeat and no shortage of taunting.
Given the Shield's tendency to reside in the City of Sails for lengthy periods, Aucklanders would struggle to feel much empathy with Wellingtonians.
But one bloke who does know all about Shield agony is Wellington coach Jamie Joseph.
When I confessed to him in an interview this week that I was a Wellingtonian, and so had a fatalistic attitude to the Shield, he replied: "So have I mate, I played for it four times and never got anything."
Joseph, then, is the perfect man to coach Wellington. Deep down he will have already steeled himself for the defeat that will almost certainly befall his team.
That's just the way it is, and always has been. Unless of course you're Quinny and Telf, and can remember that train chugging into the station.
